


Skin Deep

by Humbuggy



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed III, Assassin’s Creed 1, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Canonical relationships, Experimental, Focused on AC 1/2/3, Gen, Me exploring a soul mark universe without writing 60 000 words of story, Multi, Soul names, Soulmarks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 20:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbuggy/pseuds/Humbuggy
Summary: When his mother had seen Desmond’s unmarked skin, the first thing she did was cry. William Miles had looked down at his son, hair still damp from birth, and called it a gift.Desmond had been a Blank all his life - until the Animus.





	Skin Deep

Desmond was a Blank.  
When his mother had seen his unmarked skin, the first thing she did was cry. William Miles had looked down at his son, hair still damp from birth, and called it a gift.

#

  
‘One day, Ezio,’ his brother said, throwing an arm over Ezio’s shoulders, false commiseration in his voice after witnessing that brutal turndown, ‘you’ll find the other half of your soul, but until then, let me show you how it’s done.’

Ezio shot Frederico a sour look. ‘Be my guest, maestro. If you can catch women with the face of yours, surely I will fare far better for your guidance.’

Frederico threw back his head, roaring a laugh under the warm Firenze sunlight. ‘The first rule is that you catch more women with honey than shit, little brother.’

Unbidden, a smile broke across Ezio’s face. ‘I hear much talk, but see no ladies.’

‘Hah! Alright – One, don’t try so hard…’

The figures of the two brothers disappeared in Firenze’s crowds.

  
#

‘You don’t have a Name.’

Amelia stopped tracing languid swirls over Desmond’s back. Like most, the realisation hit her uncomfortably.

Desmond shrugged his shoulders where he lay facedown on the mattress, the sheets shoved down beyond his feet. ‘Nope.’

‘I’m sorry-‘ his co-worker and occasional hook-up started to say. He could hear the pity in her voice, the start of platitudes he’d heard so many times before. The comfortable vibe they’d built started to break and he resented it. Instead he turned, tugging her down to him.

‘Don’t want to talk about it right now.’ He kissed a line down Amelia’s naked body, avoiding the Aidan Fierro inked neatly over her ribs. Her voice broke into breathy gasps and Desmond made sure to not stop until she was too tired for talking.

#

‘You took my brother from me!’ Malik spat, ‘He is dead because of you and now I am no longer fit for the Name I still bear on my skin! Would that Al Mualim could strip of your own along with your life. God forgive you, Altair, because I never will.’

Altair watched as Malik turned and stumbled out of Al Mualim’s office. His mentor looked at him with dispassionate eyes.

‘Malik speaks the truth. If I had the power, your skin would be as blank as my own.’  
His flinch could not be fully repressed; the kick of repulsion in his stomach was too strong. But God would send him to hell before he broke. Instead, Altair lifted his chin.

‘I have no need of my Name. Like all else, they would only slow me down.’

#

‘What’s the point of them, then?’

‘What’s the point of anything?’

‘Don’t give me that look. Just … come on.’

‘Alright. Fine. I know you hate religion, but… how can science explain it? Names are … I don’t know, a sign? That there’s something or someone in the universe that looks after us. That has a plan. No one’s meant to be alone.’

‘What about Blanks?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing’s perfect.’

#

Desmond surged upwards, fighting against the hands pushing him down.

‘Just go with it, Desmond! Don’t break the synchronisation!’

Why could he see his own name on Altair’s skin if no-one else could?

#

His dad rested a heavy hand on Desmond’s shoulder.

‘You’ve been given a promise, son,’

The bathroom mirror reflected their images back at them; a skinny body of a boy, naked and crying, and a large man, broad with muscle across the shoulders. His dad’s sleeves were rolled to his forearms displaying a patch of scarred skin on his right arm.

‘Being an Assassin is your calling and your birthright. We must cast aside our Names and be loyal to the Brotherhood only. Your Blank skin is a promise – a sign that your life belongs to the Brotherhood. Do you understand?’

Desmond didn’t say anything, just continued sniffling quietly.

His dad shook his shoulder.

‘Desmond…’

‘I understand.’

‘I don’t want to see anymore crying over it. It’s done.’

Desmond nodded, blinking back tears that threatened anew.

‘Good.’ William Miles’s voice was was firm with finality.

#

‘We’re sending you into the life of your ancestor, Ezio Auditore,’ Lucy said.

Rebecca leaned over him, adjusting something he couldn’t see. ‘Baby’s better than the old animus you were shoved in before, we’ll be able to access his memories faster and clearer than Abstergo ever could.’

Desmond licked his lips , resisting the urge to touch the tattoo on his forearm, where the swooping lines of Arabic under it marred the faux-tribal design.

‘What does that mean for the bleeding effect?’ he asked.

‘We’ll monitor you,’ Lucy assured him, ‘We’ll do it carefully, with breaks whenever we think – or you think – you’ll need one. We won’t let anything happen to you.’

It did not answer his question.

‘Are we done coddling him now? Or do you still need more handholding?’ Shaun interjected, sneering over from where he was set up.

‘No,’ Desmond said with a shake of his head despite the nervous clench in his belly. ‘You can put me in now.’

The world around him dissolved into pixels and light.

#

‘You’re stuck with me, Seventeen.’

Desmond looked at Clay and swallowed hard. There were so many Names on Clay that his skin seemed to eat the light. Even if he wanted to, Desmond couldn’t read them. The Names were distorted; corrupted beyond recognition.

Clay gave him a horrible grin. ‘Pretty, right?’

#

Desmond stretched out a hand, reaching high above him where he lay on his back. His fingers tips just brushed against the lowest girder. Where the light hit his skin, he could see the faintest shadow of ink; the beginning of straight lines running up his fingers, the perfect circle on the back of his hand. Without a shadow (hah) of a doubt, he knew they matched the Apple perfectly.

‘Desmond?’ Lucy’s voice echoed from below.  
‘Up here,’ he called. It took more effort than it should to speak, as if the very air in his lungs was lethargic.

Metallic clanging and banging reverberated in the empty space as Lucy climbed up to join him. He could hear the grunts of effort as she hauled herself up the sides of containers. Whatever weird muscle-bleeding thing that happened to him in the animus must be something special; Desmond didn’t have to work nearly so hard to get up there. Climbing the stacks had felt like something he’d been doing it all his life, since his lazy childhood in Firenze – no. No. Not Firenze. Masyaf – but it wasn’t Masyaf, it was the Farm. The Farm dammit.  
Dammit.

‘Des?’ Lucy’s voice was in his ear, filled with concern – and so sudden that he flinched, arm reflexively flung in her direction, wrist flicking out to trigger his hidden blade. Except that was Altair’s-and-Ezio’s reflex and he wasn’t wearing a fucking hidden blade. He managed to pull it at the last second, fingers splayed out above his face as if he was shielding himself from a blow.

‘Desmond? Are you okay?’

He swallowed hard, lowering his arm slowly and trying to push away the rising panic.

‘Yeah, I’m alright.’

She shuffled close to him, her arm brushed against his.

‘I was just thinking,’ he said, trying to distract her. ‘What do the Templar’s think of Names?’

‘Why are you asking me?’ her voice was oddly tense.

‘You were pretending to be one? You’d know?’

‘I don’t know that much.’

‘It’s just…’ Desmond hesitated, resisting the urge to rub his forearm where Altair’s name was messily-hidden under his tattoo. ‘My dad always said that assassin’s couldn’t be… I don’t know… couldn’t have divided loyalties. Nothing was true, including Names. But Altair and Ezio do – I mean did – and I was just wondering about it.’

Lucy sighed, a long rush of air.

‘Names come second to the Templar Order, but it’s encouraged that you introduce your soulmate to the Order. Recruit them, as it were. Historically though, there’s been a lot of Assassin-Templar Name-pairs.’

‘Like Altair and Maria,’ Desmond said softly.

‘Mmhm,’ Lucy murmured. ‘Doesn’t always work out that way of course. There’s plenty of stories of those relationships ending messily.’

‘Hey Lucy?’

‘Yeah Desmond?’

‘Do you have a Name?’

Lucy was silent for a long while and Desmond prickled with uncomfortable shame. He shouldn’t have asked; god knew how much he hated questions about his own.

‘I did,’ Lucy said, breaking the silence. Her matter-of-fact words couldn’t quite conceal the note of loss in her voice. ‘He died. Car accident.’

Desmond licked dry lips. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago. It… made some things easier in a way.’

‘Still. I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks Desmond.’ Lucy didn’t let the silence linger. ‘But I think you’d better get back in the animus. Clock’s ticking.’

Like he could forget.

#

‘Connor, a man like you… surely you have you met your Name?’ Norris asked.

His soft accent gave the a lilting emphasis his words. Ratonhnhaké:ton licked his lips, pushing down his reflex reaction to the question. Norris was not one of his people and the question was not considered rude by Norris’s standards. Names were private things to be shared only with the one who bore your own – but white people didn’t think of it like that.

‘I have not,’ Ratonhnhaké:ton answered. ‘In truth, I hope that I do not meet them soon either. I do not have the time to devote the attention to them that they deserve. It would not be fair and I could not ask that of them.’

‘I understand,’ Norris replied. ‘But I am lucky to have found Myriam when I have. I was beginning to think I would become an old man before I met her! She is more than I ever dreamed of.’

Norris gave him a broad smile that Ratonhnhaké:ton couldn’t help but return with a faint one of his own.

‘I am glad for you, Norris. Meeting the other half of your soul is always a special thing.’

The sound Norris made was deep with contented satisfaction.

#

‘It was a mistake!’ Juno cried out. Her voice rattled with righteous fervour. ‘Our hevanash were ours! Ours and should have remained ours alone! What were humans but apes, bent to a higher purpose? What need had apes of hevanash? But our hevanash were painted upon your skin. A mockery! A gift you should never have received!’

#

The woman before him was truly lovely. She beautiful and intelligent – a combination that had always been his weakness.

‘May I ask your name?’ Ezio asked, bowing over her hand.

‘Sofia. Sofia Sartor.’

Ezio closed his eyes, feeling it reverberate against his soul. The sound of her name was the sweetest music he had ever heard. He had never lost hope that his soul-named would appear in his life, but he’d not expected it after so long either. The hand of fate had never been kind to him.

‘I believe,’ Ezio said softly, allowing the rich roll of his accent to thicken with deep feeling, ‘that I have been waiting a long time to meet you, Sofia.’

#

‘I’m going out!’ Desmond said, shouldering his way out of the Auditore crypt.

‘Be back-’

‘Before dawn! Yeah yeah, I got it!’

Rebecca watched Desmond leave, and sidled over to where Lucy was hunched over her computer with her shoulders up to her ears.

‘Is Desmond worrying you too?’ she murmured to Lucy.

Lucy nodded shortly. ‘The Bleeding’s getting worse.’

‘He was talking in Italian the other day.’ Rebecca said. ‘Didn’t even realise it.’

‘We’ll just have to monitor it. We’re too pressed for time to slow down.’

There was no arguing with that, still…

Rebecca bit her lip. Quietly, she asked, ‘Does Ezio have a thing about other people seeing his skin?’

#

‘What’s your name?’ Haytham blurted out. ‘Please.’

‘Kaniehtí:io.’

Haytham stilled in shock, his hand going to his side.

‘Wh- How… how do you spell that?’ He asked weakly.

Kaniehtí:io rolled her eyes. ‘Just call me Ziio.’

#

‘You don’t have to be shy around us, Desmond,’ Shaun mocked. ‘Or is the blushing virgin afraid to show some skin?’

Bruised and heartsick, Desmond turned away from Shaun, clenching his gloved hands in his pockets. The heat of Rio sucked at his skin, downing him in air thicker than molasses. The bright florescent ceiling light made his head pound. Fine.

He was done. Done.

The hoodie came off, and so did the shirt, dropped in a careless pile on the floor.

Shaun went silent. Ratonhnhaké:ton Connor Kenway ran in bold letters down the length of Desmond’s spine.

#

‘Was mom your Name?’ Desmond asked, watching as William Miles’s face grew distance and pensive.

‘No. I’ve never met her; she lives in Berlin. Teaches chemistry. I made the decision that we would never meet.’

‘So why mom then?’

His dad shrugged. ‘We liked each other enough. The usual reasons. Take your pick.’

Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard until the hot retort on his tongue died.

Honestly, he didn’t know why he thought his dad would be any different.

#

A soft whisper of robes alerted Altair to Malik’s approach as he watched Maria trounce her opponent in Masyaf’s training ring.

‘You have come a long way from the man I once knew, Brother’ Malik said softly, observing the fondness that shone in Altair’s gaze.

‘Yes,’ Altair admitted, ‘I suppose I have.’

#

‘Don’t worry, Seventeen. You’re still pretty as a picture. They were being careful with you, weren’t they.’

Clay walked around Desmond, sizing him up.

‘So where are they, huh?’

Desmond couldn’t lie.

‘Altair’s just here, but Ezio’s goes all the way down,’ He nodded first to where his tattoo hid the swooping Arabic curves of Altair Ibn-La’Ahad and then to his right leg where Ezio Auditore Da Firenze began at his hip and curled down around his thigh before finally ending in the vulnerable skin behind his knee.

‘Mmmhm,’ Clay’s voice was strange, a cracked mix of sleezy flirtation and nostalgia. ‘I bet it would, the handsy fucker. He did like getting everywhere. What else you got there, Seventeen?’

Swallowing hard, Desmond pulled his hands out of his pockets for the first time, pushing the sleeves up his forearms and holding his arms up for Clay to see.

‘Would you look at that.’ Clay said softly. ‘You’ve touched the Apple, haven’t you, you bastard.’

The lines of the Apple glowed faintly on Desmond’s skin.

#

‘Shaun, Rebecca,’ Desmond called out as they left, his voice cracking with the forced joke. ‘You’d better finally shack up after this.’

‘Desmond…’ Rebecca’s voice broke on his name.

‘Go,’ Desmond said. ‘Go now. Go!’

Their scrambling footsteps grew distant, faint echos fading away and leaving him alone with nothing but ghosts and the Names on his skin.

Desmond slammed his hand down on the pedestal of the Eye.

The world ignited with fire and pain.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, flick me a kudos and comments always make my day!  
> Questions? You want author’s notes? Shot me a question because I love answering them!
> 
> -  
> I got way into reading Esama’s AC fics (everything they touch is solid gold) and wanted to explore AC in an... exploratory way ... without devoting myself to a multi-chap fic that would take years. I love vignettes so much like wow.


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